‘Instructions from the Foreign Ministry here.’
‘Petr Aleksandrovich did not not request them?’
She laughed at the naivety. ‘Everybody tries to extend in America: there’s no point in asking!’
‘He liked it there?’
‘He was popular. Did his job welclass="underline" that’s why he was kept on.’
Without the guidance of the Foreign Office personnel file, and still seeking a link between the two murders, Danilov said: ‘Had your husband ever served in the Swiss legation?’
‘No.’
‘Anywhere in Europe?’
‘Paris. It was his posting before Washington.’
Close enough, thought Danilov. ‘Where else had he served?’
‘Caracas.’ She shuddered. ‘Venezuela is not an agreeable place.’
‘There must have been a lot of socialising, as a cultural attache?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you attend functions with your husband?’
‘It is seen as a joint posting, although I did not have any official diplomatic status.’
Danilov thought she would have performed the role very well. ‘So you and he discussed his work?’
She frowned. ‘He would tell me of events coming up: warn me in advance when I might have to attend.’
‘Did you keep matching diaries?’
Raisa Serova hesitated, looking directly at him. ‘Yes.’
‘Where is yours?’
The hesitation this time was longer, and Danilov guessed she was considering rejecting the inference of the question. But she got up and briefly left the room again, returning with a long but handbag-sized diary. Like everything else, it was American. She offered it to him without speaking.
The space for the 19th was blank: the only entries for a week prior and the period after related to her return to Moscow. There were two doctor’s appointments listed.
‘There was no purpose in matching our diaries when I was not in Washington,’ she said, anticipating the question.
‘How many diaries did your husband keep?’
‘Two; one at the embassy, another at the flat. One was the duplicate of the other. Petr Aleksandrovich was extremely efficient.’
‘Did you speak by telephone after your return?’
‘Twice, I think. Maybe three times.’
‘How did Petr Aleksandrovich seem?’
There was another frowning hesitation. ‘As he always seemed. Quite normal.’
‘He did not mention the intended meeting with Michel Paulac?’
‘I have already told you, no!’
‘You told me you did not know of an appointment,’ corrected Danilov. ‘Not that there had been no conversation about the man.’
‘I said my husband had never spoken of him,’ she reminded, correcting his correction.
Now it was Danilov who hesitated. ‘Do you know… can you imagine… any reason why Petr Aleksandrovich should have met a Swiss financier? And why he should have been killed in the manner in which he was: in the manner in which they both were?’
The woman stared at him in open-eyed amazement. ‘How could I!’
‘You must be bewildered by it, then?’
‘I am.’
‘But you haven’t tried to understand how or why he should have been meeting this man?’
‘There is no way I can undersand. It’s a mystery.’
‘Please don’t misconstrue this question,’ warned Danilov in advance. ‘But did your husband have friends or acquaintances you did not know about?’
‘He must have done, mustn’t he? I did not know of this man.’
‘I meant others.’
‘Do you mean women?’
Was he expressing himself badly, or was she making it difficult? ‘I mean do you think, this having happened, that Petr Aleksandrovich knew and met people, male or female, whose acquaintance he kept from you?’
‘It’s possible. If I didn’t know I wouldn’t know, would I? There were things that happened at the embassy which would have involved people I had no right to know about.’
This was becoming a perpetual circle, decided Danilov. ‘Will you be returning to Washington?’
She looked uncertain. ‘I haven’t thought about it. I suppose I shall have to, to close up the apartment.’
Which had been the point of his question: he wanted the chance to get into Massachusetts Avenue before Raisa Serova did. There had been outrage and protests from the Americans at his entering the Moscow apartment of the politician’s niece before them. The angriest outburst had been from the FBI man they’d eventually identified as the killer: they would never have proved it if the man had got there ahead of him. ‘You haven’t made any arrangements?’
‘I thought the funeral would have been first.’ There was a pause before she said: ‘Have you had any contact with American investigators about this?’
‘Very briefly.’
‘What do they say? What do they think?’
‘They don’t have any theories.’
‘The newspapers said you’ve worked with the Americans before?’
‘Yes?’ said Danilov, curiously.
‘Are they good? This man they named, Cowley, is he good?’
‘They have some extremely sophisticated methods of investigation, scientifically. Cowley is a very clever detective.’
Raisa Serova nodded, as if she were receiving confirmation of something she already knew. ‘So they will find the killer?’
‘I would expect so.’
‘Will he die? Be executed, I mean.’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Danilov. ‘The laws are different, from state to state.’ And the District of Columbia wasn’t a state anyway: he didn’t feel it was necessary to qualify.
Appearing to retreat inside herself, the woman said: ‘I loved him. Now I don’t have him any more.’
The abrupt outburst surprised him. Danilov could not think of anything to say.
‘Maybe, if I had been in Washington, he wouldn’t have had the meeting that night? Wouldn’t have died.’
Danilov was familiar with the ‘what if’ speculation of the bereaved. ‘It happened,’ he said, gently. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Yes.’
Danilov handed her a card: he’d already handwritten on the back the direct number into his new office. ‘If you think of anything, call me.’
Raisa Serova stared down at the card, then up at Danilov. ‘There won’t be anything.’
The Foreign Ministry personnel file on Petr Aleksandrovich Serov was waiting when Danilov returned to Petrovka. It was far more detailed than Danilov had expected. It confirmed, with the years listed consecutively, the postings to Caracas and Paris prior to the Washington appointment. He had married Raisa on 3 June, 1980, in Moscow’s Hall of Weddings. From the dates of birth, Serov was nine years older than his wife: he had been born in 1948, she in 1957. The extensions of Serov’s Washington service were noted, like the dates of the other overseas postings, but no reason recorded for keeping the man so long in America, although the four attached confidential assessments each praised Serov’s work and performance. Three used the word exemplary. There were also two confidential assessments on Raisa. Exemplary was the word used again.
Danilov was still reading when the telephone rang. He let Pavin take the call, which was quite brief. Instead of announcing it from his own desk, Pavin crossed the room, so the exchange would be unheard by the secretary.
‘You’re to go to the Foreign Ministry,’ said Pavin. ‘Raisa Serova has complained.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The chandelierd elegance was far grander than that at the Interior Ministry and Sergei Vorobie clearly considered himself very much in charge, at home in his own territory. Vasili Oskin was already there. Danilov at once registered the absence of the Federal Prosecutor, the one official Lapinsk had categorically named as an honest man. He supposed Oskin represented the law.
‘There are things that have to be understood very clearly,’ announced the Deputy Foreign Minister. ‘And remembered at all times.’
The political lecture, supposed Danilov. ‘I asked for this meeting to get guidance.’
‘Did you become particularly friendly with this man Cowley on the earlier occasion you worked together?’ demanded Oskin.